The Collier’s Wife

by Chrissie Walsh

  ‘No matter, we’ll still have him home,’ said Amy, her voice rich with emotion. For whilst she had foreseen that Jude would not arrive in time for Beattie’s burial she now lived in hope that he would arrive in time for Bert’s, to comfort her and the children in the aftermath of so much grieving.

  *

  Jude arrived two days later, on the same day as Bert’s remains were brought back to Barnborough. Amy was shocked to see how gaunt and weary Jude looked. When she told him of Bert’s death, he visibly sagged. She flung her arms round him, crying with him as she helped him into a chair.

  ‘I thought Bert wa’ invincible,’ said Jude, choking on his tears. He reared up, the chair toppling as he stamped to the open door and gazed into the distance at the slag heaps and pithead winding gear. ‘He wa’ so full of life. He dodged death every day in that bloody pit, only for the bloody Germans to finish him off like a lamb to the slaughter.’

  Amy comforted him as best she could, and on the day they buried Bert and in the days that followed, Jude hid his grief for the sake of Bert’s children. They had enough to bear.

  *

  When time is short, every moment is precious. For minutes or hours in those next seven days Amy, Jude and Kezia left the ordinary world to inhabit one of their own making; a walk in the woods, a morning tending the vegetable plot, a trip to the park and a visit to Intake Farm that brought tears to Raffy’s eyes as he gazed at his son and told him how proud he was to be his father. Evenings were spent in the cosiness of the parlour, each shared moment more magical than the one before.

  Whenever Maggie wasn’t at school, she joined them, wanting Jude’s company for he had been where her dad had been and knew what went on over there, in France. Although Jude was deeply saddened by Bert’s death, he wasn’t averse to talking about him. He told Maggie what a marvellous driver Bert had been, that he had risked his own life to save others, and that his commanding officers held him in high regard. She laughed at his droll stories about Bert’s escapades, her grief easier to bear as, in her eyes, her dad became a hero.

  As for little Kezia, her dad, Jude, was already her hero. She couldn’t get enough of his cuddles, games and stories, and Jude rejoiced in getting to know his little daughter all over again. But seven days, filled at first with deep sadness and then with love and happiness, pass all too quickly, and on a wet and windy Tuesday Amy, Kezia and Maggie and Raffy stood on Barnborough Station to say farewell to Jude. Dressed in his greatcoat, putees and boots and his rifle strapped to his back, once again he was being taken from them by this terrible war.

  26

  Of all Bert and Beattie’s children, Maggie was the one who missed them the most. When she wasn’t at school or helping Amy with the chores, she spent long hours reading or gazing intently into space. Amy let her grieve, and whenever Maggie wanted to talk about her parents, she was happy to listen. However, she grieved in private for the sister she thought she had failed. In the dark hours, she railed against Bessie for having made Beattie the unhappy woman she had always been, but this still didn’t prevent her from feeling she should have been the one to rectify the wrongs.

  Amy’s mind often dwelt on the secrets and lies that were the root of all this suffering. Yet, as time went by, her generous heart would not allow her to wholly blame Bessie and Raffy; her mother had been a desperate young girl when she fell pregnant with Beattie and duped Hadley into marrying her. Sadly, she had then spent years hiding her secret, afraid of all she had to lose if she were found out, and taking out her misery on her innocent daughter. As for Raffy, he hadn’t even known of Beattie’s existence until it was too late. Time and again Amy tried to console herself that the past could not be undone, but sometimes it had a habit of catching up on her.

  *

  Amy wasn’t the only one haunted by the past. Bessie also, couldn’t let it go.

  Today, as she looked at Jack and Fred shovelling a hearty breakfast into their hungry mouths, she felt a sudden, deep urge to acknowledge the misery she had caused. She set down the teapot and looked over at the two bent heads, one dirty fair, the other a tawny brown. She couldn’t tell the boys how she felt; they were too young to be burdened with her sins, and she wouldn’t tell Raffy. He would only say she was reaping what she had sown.

  Twisting her hands in her apron, Bessie recalled how often those same hands had slapped little Beattie for no reason other than to assuage her own guilt. The cruel words that she had spoken then now stung her tongue as though she had just delivered them. Was this to be the pattern of the rest of her days, she wondered, crying deep inside over wrongs that she had committed and now could never put right? She let her apron fall, brushing at the creases and wishing she could smooth her life as easily.

  The boys pushed back their chairs, ready to go and join Raffy in the fields. Before they left the kitchen, Bessie caught each of them by the hand. She plopped a fond kiss on Jack’s cheek and then on Fred’s. ‘Have a good day, lads,’ she said, ‘don’t be late back for your lunch.’

  ‘As if we would,’ Jack said, laughing as he and Fred went out into the yard.

  Listlessly, Bessie did her chores, her thoughts crawling round like cockroaches inside her head and making it ache with remorse. She felt faint with relief by the time Amy arrived to collect some eggs. Now, at least, a diversion might dispel the awful memories.

  Bessie bustled about the kitchen, brewing a fresh pot of tea and laying out cups and saucers, but her movements were clumsy, her hands unsure. ‘Are you feeling all right, Mam?’ Amy asked, concerned by her mother’s distracted manner.

  All at once, the doors inside Bessie’s heart and mind, the ones she had struggled to keep shut fast, burst open. ‘No, I’m not,’ she said, a hot sweat making her body feel clammy as she slopped tea into two cups. She sat down heavily in a chair at the table. Amy also sat, a worried frown creasing her brow.

  ‘Are you ill?’

  ‘Not in me body,’ Bessie said, ‘but I’m not right inside my head.’

  Amy’s frown deepened. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  Bessie took a sip of her tea then grimaced as though it was too bitter. The cup clattered against the saucer. ‘I can’t get Beattie out of my mind,’ she cried. ‘I keep thinking of her when she was a little girl.’ She placed her fleshy arms on the table in front of her, her chin almost touching the freckled skin. Then she took a deep breath.

  ‘I ruined that child’s life,’ she said, her voice low and thick with emotion. She closed her eyes as if to blot out the memory, and when she opened them, she stared bleakly into space. ‘I was cruel beyond words,’ she continued brokenly, her voice barely above a whisper, ‘but the very sight of her made me do things that I’ll never forgive meself for to my dying day.’

  Amy didn’t deny it; she couldn’t.

  ‘And I did it for my own selfish greed.’ Bessie spat out the words. Then, cloaked in shame, she fixed her eyes on something above Amy’s head and said, ‘Do you know what I used to do when I was in bed with your dad? I pretended he was Raffy.’ She twisted her lips distastefully. ‘What sort of a woman does that make me?’ She lowered her gaze, her eyes begging for her daughter to understand. ‘I never felt for your dad what I felt for Raffy but I was a good wife to him in deed, if not always in thought, and I foolishly told myself that if I didn’t show any love for Raffy’s daughter then I’d somehow be making it up to your dad for having duped him. I hid my guilt so deep that it no longer bothered me, but now when it’s too late to put things right it’s eating away at me and I can’t take much more.’ Bessie was sobbing now, great gulping sobs that tore at Amy’s heart.

  Amy had, at the start, flinched at the intimate details, but the more she listened the more she realised what inner courage it must have taken for her mother to make her confession. Now, filled with the utmost compassion, she reached across the table for Bessie’s hands. She squeezed them comfortingly. She couldn’t undo the past, but she could ease her mother’s suffering. ‘It’s never too late to
admit you’re sorry,’ she said, ‘and I know you can’t make your peace with Beattie on earth, but maybe she’s looking down and seeing what a wonderful job you’re doing with her boys. She’d thank you for that.’

  Bessie raised her sodden cheeks and blinked. ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I know so,’ Amy said firmly. ‘I like to believe the dead know everything. She’ll rest peacefully now she knows how you feel.’

  ‘So help me God, I’ll make it up to her,’ Bessie said on her breath. ‘Them lads’ll want for nothing.’

  ‘I know they won’t,’ Amy said sincerely.

  Bessie wiped her face with the palms of her hands. ‘I feel like I’ve been given a second chance,’ she said, sounding more like her old self, and managing a wan smile.

  ‘Like they say, Mam. God works in mysterious ways.’

  *

  There was a knock on Amy’s door and Maggie answered it. ‘It’s me Uncle Ben and Auntie Dora,’ Maggie called out to Amy in the parlour. She sounded surprised. Amy was equally surprised, for although they had attended his funeral, they didn’t make a habit of visiting Bert’s sister-in-law. They’d fallen out with Beattie shortly after she had married Bert. Had they come because 1916 was drawing to a close? Were they bringing Christmas gifts for their bereft nieces and nephews?

  Amy made them welcome, and over a cup of tea Ben divulged the reason for their visit. ‘It’s like this,’ he said, sounding frightfully nervous. ‘Me an’ Dora have been talking. What with our bairns all teenagers, we thought we should rear little Mary and Henry.’ He looked anxiously from Amy to Maggie, their shocked faces making him hastily add, ‘We’d give ’em a good home, an’ it’s what our Bert wanted.’

  ‘You mean take ’em away from us?’ Maggie turned her ashen face to Amy.

  ‘We’d bring ’em to see you often enough, an’ you could visit us,’ Dora blurted out, ‘an’ Ben here wants to do summat right by Bert. Afore your dad went off to France he came to see us. He said if owt happened to him he’d like me an’ Ben to take ’em because what with your mam being like she was…’ Dora clamped her hand to her mouth as Maggie visibly bristled.

  Ben tried to rescue the situation. ‘Your dad said it ’ud interfere wi’ your schooling and…’ he paused, looking at Amy. ‘He told us he knew you’d see to Maggie an’ the lads but he thought t’young ’uns would be better off wi’ us. Sharing the load, he said. He couldn’t trust Beattie to…’ He pressed his lips together, afraid to say more.

  Amy made a fresh pot of tea, and leaving Ben and Dora in the kitchen she took Maggie into the parlour. She had often heard Bert singing Dora’s praises, particularly when he wanted to annoy Beattie. She also knew Ben and Dora had a comfortable home and that Ben was a Pit Deputy earning good money. Gently, she pointed out these attributes, at the same time feeling guilty at offloading Bert’s children when she had promised him to take care of them. But a loving home with his brother offered far more advantages than she herself thought she could give.

  Maggie listened thoughtfully, agreeing or protesting and eventually seeing reason. ‘I suppose you’re right, Auntie Amy, an’ if it’s what me dad wanted it’s only right we should let ’em go… but I’ll miss ’em somethin’ awful.’ Her eyes filled with tears as she added, ‘An’ what wi’ me mam not being here anymore it does make sense. Me Aunt Dora’ll be a good mam to them.’

  ‘She will, Maggie,’ said Amy, struggling with the thought that she wasn’t exactly breaking her promise to Bert. Besides, when Jude came home, she had promised him the chance to go to college, a promise that would be easier to keep if they had fewer mouths to feed.

  Dora and Ben crowed with delight when Maggie told them of her decision, and hurrying into the parlour, they began telling Mary and Henry what a wonderful time they would have once they were living with them. At first, the children looked warily from Amy to Maggie, not understanding, but as Dora cuddled little Henry and Ben told Mary about the dogs and the pony waiting for them at their new home, their anxiety turned to excited anticipation. ‘Can I come as well?’ said Kezia.

  After tearful goodbyes on Maggie’s part, and a deep sense of having made a wise decision on Amy’s, the little family in the house in Wentworth Street settled into a new pattern, one that saw them living contentedly throughout the rest of that awful year and into the next.

  *

  On a warm, sunny morning in June 1917, Amy was down on her knees washing the flags outside her front door. As she lifted the donkey stone to draw the obligatory patterns on the clean step, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

  ‘Letter from your old man,’ the postman said gently. Jack Spivey knew how much these missives meant to the women who waited daily to hear from their husbands and sons and he hoped this one contained good news. Amy dried her hands on her apron and tore open the envelope. Skimming the letter she cried, ‘Jude’s been granted leave.’ Whistling cheerily, Jack went on his way.

  ‘Jude’s coming home!’ Amy’s excited cry rang through the house, Kezia and Maggie rushing headlong from the kitchen into the parlour.

  ‘When?’ Maggie urged, her copper curls bouncing.

  ‘The first week in July…’ Amy paused, and tapping her fingertips lightly on her chin she calculated, ‘That’s a week and two days from now.’ Half-laughing and half-crying, she took hold of the girls’ hands and together they jigged about the room.

  *

  Amy rarely left the house that first week in July but today, Tuesday, she had taken Maggie and Kezia up to the vegetable plot after Maggie came home from school. ‘I’ve neglected it these past few days and the marrows will spoil if we don’t pick them now,’ she said, handing Maggie a large trug and a sharp knife. You cut them off and Kezia can put them in the basket.’

  ‘Ah, there you are, Amy.’ Mrs Hargreaves swooped across the lawn, beaming. ‘I was anxious you had forgotten about us,’ she said.

  Amy assured her she hadn’t. ‘It’s just that my husband’s coming home on leave and I don’t want to be out of the house when he arrives,’ she explained, ‘so is it all right if I leave the girls here for the time being to gather the marrows?’

  Mrs Hargreaves beamed again. ‘How splendid,’ she gushed. ‘Now you pop off back home and I’ll take charge here. We’ll have a lovely time, won’t we girls?’ She gave Amy’s arm an affectionate squeeze. ‘I do so love having children about the place, and you’ve done such a wonderful job here I can hardly refuse.’

  *

  Amy was upstairs putting freshly ironed clothes into drawers when she heard footsteps outside her back door. It could be anyone of her neighbours, she thought, but what if… Leaving a pile of clothes on Kezia’s bed, she ran downstairs.

  Jude lounged in the kitchen doorway, a slow, sweet smile lighting his face as his eyes roved the familiar little room. A strange choking sound escaped his throat, and on hearing it Amy hurried towards him her hands reaching out, drawing him into the room. Then, as though wakened from a trance Jude clasped her to his chest, his lips seeking hers.

  Breathless, they broke apart to gaze once again at each other, as though they could not believe what they were seeing. Amy reached up, her fingers caressing the taut, greyish skin on his stubbly cheek. How gaunt he is, she thought, but still the most wonderful sight in life. Jude rested his head against her hair and breathed in deeply. She smelt like meadow flowers, and he closed his eyes, holding the scent in his nose. As Amy’s senses recovered, she wrinkled hers as the rank smell of the battlefield filled her nostrils but she didn’t care. Words tumbling from her mouth, she spoke of love and longing, and the thrill of having him by her side.

  Jude, still somewhat dazed, stood before her wearing his greatcoat and peaked cap. His rifle, mess tin and water bottle were strapped to his back and his putees and boots caked in mud. Amy giggled.

  ‘I can’t get my arms round you and give you a proper hug,’ she chuckled, patting the conglomeration of equipment. This simple remark made Jude come alive and he laughed out loud. Still
laughing, he stripped down to his shirt and trousers and then took her in his arms and kissed her again and again. Beneath his shirt she felt the steady beat of his heart and her own beating in tandem. Jude glanced about him. ‘Where’s Kezia?’

  Amy told him. ‘Let’s go and get her,’ he said, and slipped on his tunic.

  *

  On his first night at home, after tucking an over-excited, sleepy Kezia into bed, Jude followed Amy into their bedroom. He had been longing for this moment like a thirsty man in a desert craves for an oasis, but suddenly all thoughts of lovemaking fled his mind.

  ‘Where did you get all these?’ he asked, stooping to read the titles of the books on the shelves. Amy smiled fondly. Here they were, coming together with their love of books. It was like starting over again but better.

  ‘It’s good to tell where your true love lies,’ said Amy mockingly. ‘Here am I waiting to be made love to, and you’ve got your nose in a book.’

  Chuckling, Jude dived into bed and together they proved their love in the best way they knew how. Later, Jude rolled onto his back and gazed up at the ceiling, his lean, hard body pressed against Amy’s arm and thigh. ‘It’s a grand collection; I can’t believe it’s ours. I’ll read ’em all when I get home for good,’ he said dreamily, ‘and in the meantime I’ll keep doling out my books to the lads. Do you know, some of ’em had never read a book before and now they’re queuing up to borrow ’em? They can’t get enough of Kipling’s Plain Tales from the Hills. Mind you, I don’t blame them, he can’t half tell a good tale. He makes you laugh and, God knows, we don’t have a lot to laugh about over there.’ He shuddered.

  Amy thought she could almost feel his spirits sinking, and putting her hand on his cheek, she gently turned his face to hers. ‘Don’t think about it, love. Let it go.’

  Jude shook his head and then, as though he had emptied it of horrible thoughts, he grinned and rolled over, covering Amy’s body with his own. ‘Aye, there’s much better things to think about right now,’ he said, as she warmed to his urgent caresses.